The Day of the Moon
by unknown20troper
Summary: People are dying. An important secret is being kept from the Doctor. A spoiler, it's called. The Doctor wants that spoiler, even if he shouldn't. Impossible Astronaut fic, intended as a fanon second part to the ep, definitely will become AU next week.
1. I

**Fandom:** _Doctor Who_

**Summary:** People are dying. An important secret is being kept from the Doctor. A spoiler, it's called. The Doctor wants that spoiler, even if he shouldn't.

**Author's Note:** Inspired by the _Impossible Astronaut_. Yes, I thought that I wouldn't write for _Who_ until I saw almost all of it (and Ten's my fave Doctor), but the _Impossible Astronaut_ left me wondering and ideas growing, so I'm gonna be early. XD Constructive criticism is welcome.

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><p><em><strong>The Day of the Moon<strong>_

The Doctor frowned. "No, no, no, Pond! Why'd ya do that? She's a kid in an astronaut suit." His expression hardened. "I'm the Doctor, you're my companion. My companion, one of the best of humanity, yes? Well, the best of humanity does not shoot little girls, right? Right. So why are you shooting a little girl? You were one once, one also involved in a Doctor-adventurey thing… yeah, this is wrong, Pond, wrong."

"Wrong?" Pond asked, the one word cutting and burning with scorn. She turned her head to face him, ginger tresses rising and falling with the speed and harshness of fire. She was a Pond, yes, but a burning one. Not water, because she was too fiery to be that. Not literally, luckily. The fire was in intangibles and colors, similes, metaphors, not reality. "Wrong? Wrong? You do not know…." Like a volcano, her anger built up and was about to release itself. "'Course, spoilers, sorry. Can't tell ya." She muttered, "unfortunately," under her breath, and his Time Lord hearing couldn't help but catch the word.

And his curiosity, a constant Doctor trait in all incarnations, couldn't help but make him wonder what those spoilers were and what kind of spoiler, no matter how universe-warping, would even begin to justify the death of a child, crying, scared or neither.

For, yes, the bullet worked as bullets were made to. It hit the little girl, killing her after Pond responded to him, but before he, Pond or anyone else could possibly stop it, block it or do anything else able to prevent her death. The little girl was dead. Pond had killed her.

The world, the world, was mad again, or starting to go mad. The Doctor did not know which and thought it could even be both. It made no sense, and it only would make sense if he accepted that it didn't, which was a contradiction in terms, but… Pond, Amy, Amelia Pond, the (previously little) girl who waited, shooting down a kid in a costume… well, somehow, he didn't see that making sense. Or maybe it did, but was the type of thing that shouldn't…

He sighed, not heavily and not lightly, moving on from that to the current threats, not forgetting, just compartmentalizing in order to continue on. The universe was big, full of tons of lives that needed saving. Hers was still important, but he did need to continue experiencing the joys and sorrows that the universe offered and saving those that needed saving.

"River and Rory – alliterative – they're in the tunnels, below. Delaware's unconscious." In the Doctor's head, his dark side remarked, 'Delaware's unconscious? Never expected to say those words. Never thought there was a context for them. States really don't lose conscious, do they? Then again, I think there was that one planet…' He shut down the dark whimsicality, at least for a moment, not wanting to hear his own mind make puns about states and unconscious men. "Carry him into the TARDIS, Pond. We can't do much else about him, so hmm… I think we should follow the Rs into the tunnels. Imagine what amazing, extraordinary things they could be discovering in there. Maybe even an explanation…" He delivered all those words quickly, some of them separated from the rest by pauses and a relatively normal (but fast) pace.

Pond lifted Delaware, panting and heaving, making it very clear that he was not an easy person to carry. Nonetheless, she did carry him, until she reached the TARDIS, which he opened with a snap of his fingers, aware that no one could both open a door and carry someone at the same time. With a sigh of relief, she entered the TARDIS, ascended to the control centre and laid Delaware on the TARDIS' convenient and comfortable couch.

Watching, the Doctor smiled a titch, his metaphorical hearts being eased by seeing Pond do that for him, affirming every part of him that believed in her goodness. It was a small action, yes, but sometimes the smallest actions were the biggest. Sometimes and now, in this – probably – messed up universe, might have been one of those times. The universe did need many small things, small actions, and small details to keep it running, after all.

Pond exited the TARDIS and ran back to the Doctor. "Got that done. Time to go after our sweethearts now, right?"

The Doctor blushed faintly, somehow accompanied the reddening of his cheeks with the expression of someone bursting with thoughts and ideas in the making. "Sweethearts? Rory and River, yes? River, is she, will she be, my sweetheart? Maybe, I dunno. She calls me sweetheart, but that doesn't mean she is that. Anyway, I'm nine hundred six years old… I've danced a lot; I've loved a lot. And she, who knows who she is?" He stopped his speeding words. "And musings about my complicated relationship with River should be saved for when the universe doesn't need saving. Not now. We've got stuff to do now."

"Yes, we do," clipped out Pond.

Pond and the Doctor fastened their gazes on the drain tube, any and all thoughts about how disgusting it could be inside it melting away. River, Rory and perhaps the answer were contained in the tunnel it led to, after all.

The Time Lord and the human approached it in tandem, neither of them particularly far ahead of or behind the other, though one of them had to get into the lead when it came to entering the tube. The one was Pond, her expression becoming a hard, determined frown, one that declared, 'hah! Wrong? Me? I'm the best of humanity and look, Doctor, I'll prove it,' as well as her love for Rory, something that his mind didn't need or want to put in any specific words. Love needed none to be conveyed. It was beautiful, wonderful, amazing… the most complex thing and the simplest, of fairy tales and tragedies. Love.

Her descent made clanging and gripping sounds, finally ending with the thump of a jump down, telling the Doctor without any words that it was his turn to descend into the underground.

He did so. He and Pond sighed in wonder; amazed by the sight they saw. Another TARDIS room, exactly like the other one and stark in comparison to his TARDIS. His TARDIS was a celebration of nonsense and fun, utterly whimsical. This one just consisted of the bare necessities of a Time and Relative Dimensions in Space in machine, nothing more and perhaps a bit less.

Since River and Rory no longer were in the room, Pond and the Doctor couldn't just stay in there. Too bad, the Doctor thought, wanting to solve the mystery of the TARDIS-copiers, various theories forming and dissipating in his head. They darted off into a tunnel, hearing the screams of River and Rory.

Pond frowned, pointing at what seemed to be classic sci-fi, UFO-using aliens. "I remember them. But I didn't before."

"Yeah, me too," Rory said, the words coming out as something that resembled an exhalation of breath a bit more than speech. "Even River's confused."

The Doctor thought, the beginning of an answer forming in his head. "Odd, very odd. You forget about them when you don't see them, yes?"

"So, what can we do about them?" Pond asked, recognizing a quandary. "We can't do anything that requires leaving the room, right? And maybe we shouldn't close our eyes. You know, treat them like Weeping Angels."

"Good, good," the Doctor replied, sounding – like he almost always did –too peppy for the situation. "We might have to kill them, though I really don't want to. Killing is bad."

"But, killing them would help, right?" inquired Pond.

The Doctor sighed, remembering wars, battles and Gallifrey's burning, remembering the times when killing someone or several someones became the only answer, remembering that he 'never would' or at least, never should, and that other solutions perhaps could be found. "That's a tricky question, very tricky. Killing them might stop us from forgetting about them when they get out of sight, yes, but… alien lives are worth as much as your own, yes? They're sentient, you're sentient… I'm the Doctor. I don't kill, not when it's optional."

"So?" Pond stretched out the word, its ending rising in the way typical of questions.

"So, we are stuck. Stuck. Utterly stuck."

Pond swore under her breath, passing the Doctor her phone.

The Doctor, holding the pink and black object, smiled"You're brilliant, Pond. Absolutely brilliant! Just keep the phone on that picture. That picture. Don't do anything else on it, don't look at anything else. Just that picture."

"Alright," Pond replied, snatching her cell-phone back from the Doctor.

"Also, Song, I think I might need those spoilers," the Doctor said, shifting topics with a smooth ease. "Yes, yes, I know. No spoilers. But something's got you three a bit off and it relates to the spoilers, right?"

"If you are told at the wrong time… oh, you know... probably better than I do, actually."

Yes, he did, in general. But his general knowledge about the workings of Time and Space didn't give him the specific insight that he needed to understand the changes in his companions or the solution to the situation. Well, at least, it sure wasn't now.

Yet, the laws of time, its rules, everything that prevented the world from breaking up meant that he couldn't know, couldn't know the answers, couldn't get the spoilers. He was the Last of the Time Lords, yes, the the Time Lord Victorious, but that didn't give him the privilege, it just didn't and he had to suck it up and try to find a spoilerless solution.

A solution without spoilers or death: tricky, but the Doctor is the Doctor, after all, yes? Yes. He whipped his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, waving it up with flair and turning it on by clicking a button.

"Alright, my ever-useful sonic screwdriver is in play! Time to win!" the Doctor announced, his confidence making his companions' jaws drop. He made an expression that conveyed the full meaning of 'what' without saying a word. He was the Doctor; he was awesome. Of course he was confident.

Being sonic, it obviously could be used for noise creation, so he pressed a button, producing a sound that distracted the aliens, leaving them clutching their equivalents of ears. Unfortunately, the aliens not being one of the most ear-reliant species, he did not give himself enough time. He fished around in his pockets, grabbing the first pair of scissors he found, one that cut things into curvy shapes.

"Run!" he shouted to his companions. "Now!"

They did so, slowed by having to also keep on looking at the alien picture. The Doctor smiled as soon as they were out of sight. Opening the scissors, he clamped them around the nearest alien's skin and pushed down, getting a curved flap of it. "Alright, alright, now I can run. I know I won't forget, so no need to stare at you guys, anymore."

Having the unattached skin of an alien in his hand was weird, bad weird, particularly since he also saw the alien he took it from, alien flesh exposed and alien blood flowing from the wound, beginning to clot. This wasn't new, but the Doctor, a savior of sentient beings, did hate having to hurt them, unless they really super deserved it and even then, it bothered a part (maybe just a small part) of him.

"No, you will not run away. You are the Doctor, our supreme enemy, and we have got you cornered. The Silence has fallen."

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><p>The little girl, feeling rather addled, awoke. From what, she didn't know. Not sleep, nothing as innocent as that. Her head throbbed, and she felt broken. Broken, but alive, though able to pass for dead. A small weight rested her chest, partly into her spacesuit, worn on a whim 'cause she was trapped at Jefferson Adams Hamilton anyway, and playing pretend would not do anymore harm than being trapped there already had – or not.<p>

She didn't know. She was just an innocent little kid, utterly unknowing and still playing about in the world of make-believe. Just a kid in a spacesuit, at Jefferson Adams Hamilton, playing because she wanted to, because the suits were there and space had always seemed so cool and scary. _Too_ scary before, but now, in this place, with those weird creatures that she was sure qualified as aliens, it wasn't. She could play a game based on exploration of the unknown reaches of space and it couldn't scare her more than reality. That is, until her fantasies bled into the real world or at least, seemed to. Until her game became something more like a mission; until she seemed to die.

She was – the girl tried to recall her name; it had an R, maybe an S – whoever she was, reality was frightening and weird, and her game was a mission. And it was the Day of the Moon.


	2. II

**Fandom:** _Doctor Who_

**Summary:** People are dying. An important secret is being kept from the Doctor. A spoiler, it's called. The Doctor wants that spoiler, even if he shouldn't.

**Author's Note:** Inspired by the _Impossible Astronaut_. Yes, I thought that I wouldn't write for _Who_ until I saw almost all of it (and Ten's my fave Doctor), but the _Impossible Astronaut_ left me wondering and ideas growing, so I'm gonna be early. XD Constructive criticism is welcome.

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><p><em><strong>Day of the Moon<strong>_

"So this is your TARDIS?" inquired the Doctor. "Or your SIDRAT? SKARDIS? Alien time machine? Scavenged tech thingy? RETARDIS? No, who'd call their space-time machine that? Way too offensive. At least, in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Yeah…" The last part came out in a mutter, just being a tangent that he went on, not part of the serious question. He doubted that the aliens had enough patience for silly tangents, though he could create them all day. All night too, actually. After all, dreams really were just mental tangents…

And that explained exactly what he meant, the Doctor figured, not meaning to illustrate his point to himself but nevertheless confined by the natural laws of his personality.

The aliens, too alien to convey anything through their expressions, nevertheless appeared to scorn the Doctor. "There are things in this world that even you do not know about. This shall be one of them."

The Doctor recalled the mystery that started this adventure that landed them here: four letters with him as the recipient of the first, the one that the writer of them had trusted the most. He wondered who the writer was and why the letters were sent. His companions refused to tell him, the answer apparently capable of screwing up time.

Whoever the sender was, they trusted him the most, more than anyone else. He had already thought of a few people that it could possibly be. Rose Tyler, the Master, Susan, River Song herself, some version of himself… tons of possibilities and his companions would not tell him which one it was or much at all.

So, he didn't know and that drove him mad. He didn't want people to keep secrets from him; he didn't want his companions to pull one over him. He wanted to know and he couldn't. Curiosity killed the cat, apparently, and his companions seemed to think that satisfying his would kill the universe. They were probably right, but he wanted to know. He was a Time Lord, a Time Lord and how dare anyone block him from knowledge? How dare they keep him in the darkness/light of innocence?

And now the aliens were doing it. Volcano Day, oh that would come. His anger had built, trying to dissipate but not managing to and now, with the aliens, all that built-up anger could explode, lash out against them.

"Yes, there are," stated the Doctor firmly, blunt anger entering his tone. He made swooping motions with his hands, trying to figuratively encompass the entire universe. He fiddled with the TARDIS-machine, showing his expertise by only touching the knobs and buttons that wouldn't do much. He upped the lights, lowering darkness' cover and making it all come into stark relief. It was a show, a show of his power and knowledge, the cores of a Time Lord. "But, you know what? Oh sure, there's stuff that I have no clue about now, but I'm a Time Lord. I traverse space and time. I discover new things everyday. Yes, I don't know about some things, but that is pretty much why I explore the universe. To have fun, to change my mind, to learn new things... you know, all that cool stuff. So, tell me!"

And all the secret keeping, the shielding from spoilers infuriated him as much as ever. Explosions could destroy just about anything else, but curiosity and ideas, the mind, the thoughts would still survive.

The aliens just stared him down coolly, not moving, not shocked. There was no fear, no awe, nothing like that. Just silence, a cold silence, a dark one. They were an incarnation of fear and fear was not able to feel itself. Being terror meant never experiencing terror and they liked it that way (if they could like anything, that is), thank you very much.

He held a piece of one and its golden black blood fell slowly down the said alien's head – and that alien didn't care. None of them did. Their gaze – their stare, maybe glare – just focused on the Doctor, not wavering, just delivering a sense of sheer hatred, of sheer anger. Something like that, but since emotions tended not to show on them, could he really tell?

"No, Doctor," growled out one of the aliens, one whose bulbous head, looking as though it was molded from clay, clearly wasn't missing a piece. "You can not always get what you what. Even if you are a Time Lord."

The Doctor resisted the urge to shiver, to give in to the coldness of the alien's words and just give up. Giving in and giving up: those were the two things he didn't do. Ever! "But hey, there's no harm in trying, right? Or is there? Is there? Would knowing who owns this timeship mess up the timestream?"

The aliens refused to answer, their manner just projecting metaphorical coldness and very real terror. Electricity flickered, one of them touched the translucent red button and the TARDIS copy made its own version of the sound that the Doctor was so familiar with. The sound of the universe, as companions tended to think of it; the sound of his universe, of being able to explore the universe, as he tended to think of it.

They were going somewhere or somewhen, perhaps both. Probably both, the Doctor guessed, thinking that the tunnel probably would be no more special in, say, the 51st century than in 1969. But, who knew? Who knew?

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><p>Vague memories and thoughts floated through the little girl's head, trying to touch down on solid reality but being too wispy to do so. The Doctor, glorious, amazing, different and… terrifying. He could wreck the world without someone at his side, someone to make him stop. He was different before; he looked different and kinda… acted a bit different.<p>

And the big girl – big girl, now that wording made her recall some commercial-thingy, one for panties made to poo in – had shot her, thinking that she'd hurt the Doctor, apparently. That confounded the little girl, since terrifying as the Doctor could be, she certainly didn't want to hurt him, and her thoughts were muddled up, too much for her to even know who he is. Maybe there was a valid reason to hurt him… maybe she didn't remember it.

A clacking and clattering distracted her. She shifted her head in its direction, causing shadows to fall onto it. The sight she saw triggered a gasp. The big girl, hair flowing behind her like fire, and a boy, staying close to her, were here. The fire-haired girl burned with rage, with fury, directed fairly or unfairly at her, she was sure. The boy, he was a loyal companion of the girl, and she wondered if the boy would oppose the girl if the girl shot again.

A woman stood beside the two, giving an impression of separation from them, of being something else. Her brassy curls trailed down like a banner, bouncing as she moved. She looked familiar, and the little girl wondered if she was some celebrity, since she certainly gave that kind of impression, wonderful and with so much sheer style, pizzazz maybe. Confidence, charisma… she had those or at least qualities similar to those. This woman was quite different from the other two.

The three ran over (well, the third just sauntered over, actually) and the little girl tried to get ready for the end, but being little, she was a bit too innocent in her understanding of ends and deaths. She imagined coming back, or ending up somewhere else, somewhere idyllic, somewhere static, not disappearing from existence entirely.

The girl of flame looked around, touching the spacesuit, hands flicking around and eyes squinting. "She's alive? She's alive! But that's impossible…"

The boy frowned, eyes becoming slits. "Impossible? What do you mean, impossible? She's the girl that's been calling the president, right? Why wouldn't she be alive?"

The girl couldn't hold eye contact with the boy once he said that. Water welled up in her eyes and came out as tears, covering her face with their wetness. Her face contorted, mouth going down and partly opening. The words she said got choked up. "I... shot her, Rory. The Doctor said she was dead, I believed him… but she only looked dead then. She wasn't and she's young, young, innocent, should have plenty of life… but I tried to murder her. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, so sorry…"

Rory held her to his chest, running his hands through her hair, showing that touching her didn't mean getting burnt. His tone was soft. "Yeah, I know. Anything to save our Raggedy Doctor, huh?" He sighed. "Let's try to help her and then all – little girl, too – go back to the TARDIS, alright?"

The fiery girl winced, replying, "Her? In the TARDIS? We all know what the spaceman did, right?"

The impressive woman cut in. "Yes, we do. Are you aware that we cannot interfere with our personal timeline? She needs to be there to shoot the Doctor because that happened. No changing it." A faint thread of sadness could be heard beneath the firm, bossy tone of the words.

"Yes, I'm aware of that, thank you very much, River," the girl of flame replied, her tone blunt. "But, that's cold. Really cold. You said the Doctor was cold. Well, look in a mirror."

River sighed. "Yes, I know." She paused, looking off into the distance as she searched for the right words. "But, that's how the universe works. Subvert it and it collapses. He's wonderful, yes, clever, yes, but who are we to dare destroy the universe for one man?"

None of the people in the room could answer that. Silence fell.


	3. To Cap It Off

**Fandom:** _Doctor Who_

**Summary:** People are dying. An important secret is being kept from the Doctor. A spoiler, it's called. The Doctor wants that spoiler, even if he shouldn't.

**Author's Note:** Since this story does not fit well with the canon _Day of the Moon_, I will cap it off with something based on the actual ep. And here it is!

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><p>"I'm dying. But I can fix that. It's easy really. See?" The little girl spouted that off as though she was talking about a game, not the very serious business of dying.<p>

Her hands dissolved into golden energy, reminiscent of fairy dust. She watched that happen with only an innocent grin, childhood innocence making cheating death into a bright experience.

The light contrasted with the alley's drabness, with the wet pavement and strewn-about boxes. This was wonder in a life of poverty, illuminating the dark places, being the closest thing to magic that any human would find.

A glow spread through her, through every single part, making her skin flush with radiance. She arched her head up once the golden-white light overtook it and then she spread her arms akimbo. Utterly undisturbed, she stood there, not moving, just letting herself glow, cheating death because she could.

Gold took on a fiery edge, no longer solely playing the part of fairy dust. She seamlessly became part of it, became it or at least, more of a part of it than she already was. Her hands and face lost their shape, the glow and dust replacing them in a smooth transition. The golden energy flared from the now empty parts of her attire, aiming right, left and up in practically perfect straight lines.

During that, the man, frightened of the glory, had left, leaving the alley with a sense of… emptiness, loneliness. Caught up in her display, the little girl was above that, yet it didn't go entirely unnoticed by her. It made a mark in her rapidly changing mind, though the mark was faint, so faint.

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><p>Right then, as golden energy shot out across the New York slums, she was something else, something unearthly. And no one else was there. No one helped her, no one came and that just didn't matter. It just didn't.<p>

The girl felt sheer power rocket through her body, knocking it down and rebuilding it. This experience wasn't one that forced her to lose conscious, instead just making her tingle, freshening her. It was like breathing, so natural, so right and she would die if she didn't.

But, inhaled air has to be exhaled, and after exhaling, inhaling is necessary. Everything has an end, regardless of how glorious. The process of making something, even when it's pleasurable, has to end with something made. And so the golden energy settled down, dissipating, just becoming little wisps and she solidified.

Yes, she, the little girl, now different. Same size – approximately – and still rather human, though the 'human' part of that statement was in question. Cheating death like that wasn't human; in fact, it might be argued that cheating death at all wasn't human. Might be argued, but in this world of wonders, it might also be said that it could be human, could not be as alien, as mystical as it seemed. Might be argued, but be false, despite the protestations to the contrary. Might be argued, but even she did not know.

The girl waved around one of her hands, in what would be a test of how well it worked if she had even some of the seriousness of adulthood, something that even some adults didn't have in spades. For her, the motion was for fun, for the pleasure of trying out a novelty.

She pulled one of her tresses towards her face with the non-waving hand, curious. Orange, a dark orange, dark and fiery. But no, her mind protested, ruffling through her blurry memories till she found the color again. A memory flowed into her mind, slowly and smoothly, a memory of a man.

"_Ginger. That's ginger. You know what? I really should be ginger. Why am I not ginger?"_

She giggled, not knowing the context of the memory. Not knowing, but adoring nonetheless. Kids loved fairy tales and nonsense, and he seemed to be from both. If only she knew more, if only she, a girl also belonging in a fairy tale, could find him, could know her own identity… If only…

And she would, she would. She was the girl that could stop death, she had power and it was wonderful. Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!


End file.
